


Victory Playlist

by spycandy



Series: A Formula for Friendship [3]
Category: Formula 1 RPF, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 2013 F1 season draws to a close, but what impact have Loki and Tony Stark had on the championship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victory Playlist

**Author's Note:**

> Coneycat said to send Loki to Brazil and I am nothing if not suggestible. Final part.

"MissScarlet: So, all my life my mom has had this whole Big Thing about the Irish, like, “They have criminality in their blood” and all that. Two years ago I found out I was adopted and I decided I wanted to know about my birth parents. Turns out – guess what! They're Irish. AND because it was an open adoption, my mom knew that. So this whole time she's been going on about thieving in the genes and well, yeah... I MEAN, WHO DOES THAT?!!"

God-kings and suburban moms alike, that's who, thought Loki as he typed a reply into the forum's comment box.“Embrace your heritage. Steal all her stuff.”

And then, after a moment, added, “LOL,” to indicate that, with the benefit of hindsight, this was actually probably terrible advice.

And then he added “::hugs::” because it was standard etiquette on the forum when someone described something hurtful, and if anyone knew how much that stuff hurt, well... anyway. He hit send and closed the window, intending to make a start on his SHIELD paperwork before the race started.

Because in the course of the past year, it had come to this. One too many convenient truces to work against common enemies and SHIELD had practically put him on the payroll. It wasn't all that dreadful though, especially not after Tony Stark had pointed out that the organisation really was “a very long way from 'light dove' on the moral grey paintchart”. Plus they gave him forms headed _Expenses_ and _Requisition_ , which allowed for all kinds of shocking lies and mischief.

However, before he could start on the forms, he noticed there was a new email from Stark, with the subject: BORED. Boredom seemed unlikely, since he knew Stark to be attending the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix to promote SI's green energy tech, while Loki himself was for once making do with watching it on his new SHIELD-requisitioned large screen TV.

“Help me Loki, for I AM BORED,” wrote Stark.

“There is no booze here. The desert looms beyond the racetrack and I can't drink it away. No one will give me any flo-vis paint to try out on my suit. I am surrounded by people who want to talk boring business and the weather is boringly predictable and I MISS MY F1 BUDDY.

“You'll come to Brazil though, won't you? I'll get us VIP passes. Pleeeeeease?”

“Very well,” typed Loki, “::hugs::”. He would have gone anyway, but it was pleasant to be asked. 

And then several moments _after_ hitting send he realised exactly what he had done. Damn adoptee forum etiquette! And damn the fact that he still hadn't worked out how to use magic to edit sent emails once they had gone!

>>>

Stark hadn't said a word about his faux pas so far. Perhaps he hadn't even noticed it, or possibly he just hadn't been able to squeeze the words around the vast array of snack foods the man was gobbling from the food stalls amid the thronging humanity around the outside of track.

They had their VIP passes, of course, but mingling unrecognised with the common horde apparently remained a thrilling novelty for his billionaire companion. And the Brazilian crowds _did_ hold a compelling chaotic appeal. The Italians might have been their near match for noise and colour, but the energy at Interlagos was intoxicating and utterly undampenable by the thin wash of drizzle.

Indeed the weather only intensified the building excitement, as everyone there understood the frantic re-strategising that rain would have prompted over on the grid, where the cars were being prepared for their grand showdown by mechanics squeezed between media and fashion models.

“All hanging on the last race of the season again,” said Stark, having at last finished munching on his pão de mel. “I don't know how Bernie does it.”

“You truly believe he is manipulating the race results?” asked Loki.

“I don't see how... unless by magic maybe.”

“He would need to be a powerful sorcerer.”

“Is he?”

“No,” said Loki. He had made some significant investigation into this question, but all the evidence demonstrated that Ecclestone was merely a magician of the mathematics of chance, providing such a mix of challenges that it was difficult for even a superior driver to pull out a 25 point lead. “Fernando Alonso might well be though.”

“Really?!”

Loki rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Ha ha. Well, hopefully James has done his bit with the technical wizardry this morning. The new front wing end plate was looking very promising yesterday.”

That was a surprisingly modest way of Stark mentioning that he'd dropped yet another stack of blueprints on the Lotus engineers with the potential to revolutionise car design. The other team bosses must have had nightmares all season at the notion of Ironman retiring from Avenging and concentrating his mind on motorsport. Even so, he'd played a major part in ensuring that Kimi was one of the several drivers who could, in theory, clinch enough points for a championship victory in the next couple of hours.

>>>

“No time for losers... cos we are the champions... OF THE WORLD.”

It wasn't really singing so much as hoarse shouting, but the champagne-soaked mechanics were giving it their all as Stark practically dragged Loki into the garage by the wrist, so keen was he to join the celebration.

The newly-crowned champion stood slightly apart from the rowdy crowd, watching them with a slightly dazed smile on his face and accepting congratulatory shoulder slaps with wordless nods. Before Loki could offer his own words of praise for the driver's brilliant performance, a woman with a microphone, followed by a heavily-equipped TV crew, had barged into the space.

“So Kimi, did you ever think you would become a two-time world champion this year?”

The driver paused, then looked across the garage, meeting Loki's eyes and grinned.

“Total world domination,” he said. “Yes, I already knew we could do it this time last year...”

 _“If you stay by my side, we can ruuuuule the woooooorld.”_

The sing-a-long to the victory playlist drowned out most of the driver's next words, but they appeared to be the usual platitudes thanking the hard-working team, the sponsors and so on. The mechanics' choir had now been joined by many of the non-garage team members, and the team chef was adding his impressive baritone to a song threatening a global takeover.

“Stark! Someone appears to be threatening to harness the power of starlight and take over the planet,” he said, putting on his best innocent Asgardians-taking-things-literally face as Tony Stark re-emerged from the crowds carrying two plastic beakers containing champagne. 

“Yeah, we're gonna look pretty silly one of these days when Take That turn out to have been supervillains all along,” said Stark, not falling for it this time. “Nice to be recognised for our efforts though, isn't it?”

“ _Our_ efforts?”

“Yeah, Kimi's little speech there mentioned us both. Big name-check for Stark Industries yay. But he seemed quite impressed with you as well.”

Loki preened. Obviously bringing in Stark had been his biggest gambit, but he liked to think his opposition analysis had been a help too. Knowing what your rivals were lying about could be very useful. 

_“When you're standing in the hall of fame... And the world's gonna know your name,”_ thumped the next song on the victory mix. Listening to the lyrics being mangled by the team, Loki felt a sudden surge of affection for this realm where world domination _could_ be achieved in any given sphere, without being the son of anyone in particular. 

And then in the midst of the singing melee, Stark threw both arms around him and squeezed tightly.

“Hey Loki,” he said. “Hugs.”


End file.
